love like hate: tryst
by soleilnoire
Summary: Sirius Black is lounging on your windowsill again, with that lazy thoughtless elegance that so many girls would kill for. The bright end of his cigarette burns into your vision like a single star in a pitch-black night sky. siriuslily.


A/N: … well, this little drabblish thing has been giving me a headache for the past three hours, with edits, but I decided I was just going to post it here and screw the consequences. :D Enjoy. (and don't tell me it's ooc, I know that already :P) reviews are love.

-:-

Sirius Black is lounging on your windowsill again, with that lazy thoughtless elegance that so many girls would kill for. The bright end of his cigarette burns into your vision like a single star in a pitch-black night sky.

He looks up as you enter, blowing blue-grey smoke in your direction, a tiny smile lighting the corners of his lips.

"Evans,"

Inwardly, the way his voice shapes your name makes you quiver a little, but you'd never be so foolish as to give him a single hint as to your feelings. That tiny spark of desire is exactly what he looks for when he searches your bright green eyes.

"I thought I told you to stay out of here, Black," you say blandly, already moving past him. You don't bother to start a confrontation, even though McGonagall would flay him alive for being in the girl's dorms again.

"Oh, but I'd miss you, Lilyflower," he says mockingly, his grey eyes challenging. "and as I recall, you didn't seem to mind so much last time."

Involuntarily, resentment shows on your face as you put your heavy book bag down on the bed. Standing in front of the slightly murky mirror, you untwist your ballerina bun, letting the long red hair cascade across your shoulders dramatically.

"I thought we weren't going to mention that again," you say a little too sharply. Sighing, you smooth the little frown line between your eyebrows. No matter how much shame and unhappiness burns you up inside, you refuse to give him the satisfaction of it showing on your face.

"Mention what, Evans?" he says suddenly, guilelessly, his stormy eyes wide and innocent. Your eyes meet his in the mirror and he blows smoke in your direction, a little smirk creasing his lips. As always, his eyes are laughing, laughing at you.

For a moment you watch him in the mirror as he looks out the window again, envying his effortless grace. Despite the cruel twist of his mouth, you can't help but appreciate him aesthetically. Only his strong chin and haughty aristocratic nose save him from being labelled a 'pretty boy'. Even so, with eyelashes a self-respecting girl would kill for, stormy dark grey eyes and thick dark hair, he comes pretty close.

You hope you're not turning into one of those sickening girls who spend irritatingly large amounts of time mooning over him. The thought alone sends a little shudder through you.

Opening your book bag, you attempt to ignore him, but its futile to even think about thinking about homework. There's something about Sirius Black that unconsciously commands attention.

"Leave me alone, Black" you say, attempting a firm tone, which only wavers at the end when you turn to face him and he's a lot closer than you thought.

Some part of you is wondering where intelligent, forthright Lily Evans has gone as he tilts your chin up, his large hands curiously rough against your skin. Inside there's a cruel, hedonistic and selfish part of you that's jumping up and down with glee and swooning with joy. You don't quite know what the rest of you, including your conscience and common sense, is doing at all.

He tastes like cigarettes and faintly and obscurely of caramel. Your traitorous hand sneaks around his neck and fists his dark hair, almost with the consent of your hazy befuddled mind. He pushes you easily up against the wall and slides a hand around your waist, sending heat shooting down your spine in way that feels like he's burning you inside out. A strangled noise which is half surprise, half pleasure escapes your mouth and you wantonly press up against him, feeling almost embarrassed somewhere inside.

Nearly an hour later he leaves without a word and with a sort of hatred burning in his silver grey eyes. Your not sure he hates himself or if he hates you, but you're almost sure that it shouldn't matter to you either way.

You lie on your bed, half-naked and absolutely loathing yourself and your weakness. You hate yourself because you let it happen and he's decent enough that he wouldn't have really pushed you, had you the self-control to say no. And you hate yourself more because you enjoyed it, in some hedonistic, perverse way.

If you get dressed and find the energy to go to dinner, your boyfriend will be standing at the top of the stairs, as he always does. Always willing to put up with your moods and the way you're always studying when he wants to spend time with you. He'll even be careful and considerate if you say you're not feeling so well. He'll tell you earnestly that he loves you, like he does almost everyday, in way that never seems to weary of sincerity.

He'll probably say a couple of goofy jokes, because he loves to make you laugh. He'll be so James that it'll kill you a little bit inside to lie to him. Just like it did the time before and the time before that and probably even the times before that too.

Wrapping your sheet around your naked torso, you find the motivation to sit up and look across at your damning reflection. Revulsion rises inside you as you realise you look like some cheap whore, with the sheet barely covering you, your hair mussed and your lips swollen and almost bruised.

"You don't deserve him you, disgusting person," you whisper dully, never moving your eyes from the slut in the mirror. "You don't deserve him at all."

The funny thing is that you're not even sure that you know which 'him' you're talking about.

_fin_


End file.
